My Life Changing Experience

"Howard, help! I can't get up!" I yelled to my husband. A minute before I was vacuuming in the living room, thinking of my birthday plans then I was on the floor, in a daze. Howard, hearing the panic in my voice, ran over to me. I remember it vividly because not only was it my birthday, March 15th, but it also was the day I became paralyzed. I didn't even know whether it would be temporary or a permanent condition.

At forty, instead of going out for a romantic birthday dinner with Howard, I was lying on a stretcher, not knowing if I would ever walk again. I didn’t know what was wrong, but knew I couldn’t sit up or lift my legs.

"What's going on, honey?" He asked quite frightened.

"I can't move!" I screamed hysterically. He rushed to help me gently into my bed and then called emergency. The ambulance came within seconds, with their sirens blaring, as it wound down our block.

Neighbors, forever curious, looked out to see what was going on. One of them, whom we were friendly with, came over and held my hand. "You'll be alright, Susie. Try not to worry." That was easier said than done.

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so terrified, Cindy," I said to her. She could see the fear in my eyes. To say I was scared was an understatement. The paramedics quickly lifted the stretcher into the ambulance with me on it, and I was headed for a place I couldn't stand the thought of.

In the hospital’s emergency room, the doctor tried to examine me, but I could barely cooperate so he could check my back out.

"Mrs. Wiener, please try to sit up so I can examine you," he said, but I couldn't oblige him.

"Oh, how I wish I could, doctor!" I answered, tears streaming down my face again. Even my heart was beating erratically. I didn't need them to test that. My heart felt like it was ready to explode.

Several hours later, I was finally in a room, and in a more comfortable bed. A pretty, young nurse gave me a cup with water in it, and a straw. I sipped it slowly, grateful because I was so thirsty.

That night they gave me an MRI. After that, they left me alone the rest of the night to relax. I fell into a fitful sleep, even though the nurse gave me something to ease my pain and a sedative.

The doctor came in the next day. "You have degenerative disk disease, along with one of the disks being herniated." He then walked out of the room. I was devastated, thinking this was quite serious.

Howard came back in the room and stayed with me the entire time. Tears fell down my cheeks constantly. He bent down and kissed me gently. "Don't worry, Susie, you'll be fine." I didn't think I would be, but I wanted to believe him. He never lied to me before. What was so upsetting was the doctor that had examined me couldn’t say whether I would walk again. I couldn't live my life in a wheelchair, that much I knew. I constantly prayed it was a temporary thing. After regaining a bit of my ability to walk, the doctor insisted I walk down the hallway as much as I could manage. I could only do that one time. The pain was awful.

"Mrs. Wiener,” the doctor said, concerned, "I suggest you see a physical therapist." He gave me the name of one in my area.

After being in the hospital a week, I went home. I was still in so much pain, but the medications helped to ease some of it. I didn’t know what to do with myself all day. I was alone since at that time Howard went to work, but left me a table on the side of my bed with a coffeemaker to make coffee, and ready-made sandwiches that he had made for me that morning. I tried walking a bit, but it was almost impossible. It felt like daggers were being shot into my legs when I even attempted to stand.

I had no appetite, but I managed to nibble on a ham and cheese sandwich during the day. When Howard came home, he could see how depressed I was still, and suggested I take up writing. He was kind enough to get me a notebook and pen to write my thoughts down. I had always wanted to be a published writer. Maybe this was God’s way of giving me time to see my dream come true. But when I tried to type, it was too hard for me. I used to be a rapid typist, but now my fingers wouldn't even work well for me.

Howard typed up my submissions, and sent out some of my poems, recipes and personal experience stories about my health scare to publications. To my surprise, a month later, I received a letter of acceptance and a check. It was such a thrill I almost forgot my health problem. Seeing my work in print was the greatest moment ever.

Now, twenty years later and three years of physical therapy, which helped a bit, I am still very limited in what I can do physically. I walk with a cane and get depressed quite a bit, but when I see an acceptance letter in my mailbox, my spirits soar, and I can smile. God does work in mysterious ways and pointed me in the direction He wanted me to go.